


Anchors

by buckynbarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Asexual Characters, Asexual Relationship, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Clint Needs a Hug, College, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Kate is Great, Love, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Maria Hill Knows Everything, Multi, Other, Peggy Lives, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sexual Content, Skinny Steve, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Characters, WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER, alternate universities, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckynbarton/pseuds/buckynbarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers needs to find his anchors—the people who will keep him grounded when his whole world seems to drift away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchors

Steve Rogers needed anchors.

At least, that's what Dr. Carter had told his grandparents.

Steve raised his head and looked quickly around his grandmother's small room, his pulse pounding in his ears. He had found a letter on the same wooden bureau his grandmother kept the purse she had asked him to fetch her. The names “Mr. and Mrs. Rogers” inscribed on the envelope had jump-started Steve's heart and sent his stomach sinking to the floor; the feelings barely subsided even after he noticed the jagged line that had already cut open the thin parcel.

Steve straightened his posture as he read over the stolen sheets again. He reasoned that he would rather apologize later than get denied permission to unveil the letter's contents, so he read. And he decided to read again, just to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding Dr. Carter's words. An inexplicable wave of emotion crashed at Steve's feet as his eyes met the letter's address for a second time.

 

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Rogers,

> My name is Dr. Peggy Carter, and I am a history professor at Liberty College. I am writing this letter to you in concern for your grandson, Steve. From what I've seen, Steve is courageous, honest, and a truly upstanding young man. However, he is having trouble making lasting connections with others.  
>   
>  Steve is a kind force in this unforgiving world. He has, needless to say, affected many people's lives for the better. Regardless, he drifts as easily into these lives as he escapes from them. As invested as he becomes in certain situations, he detaches himself seemingly without difficulty.  
>   
>  This is worrying from an adviser's perspective. The lasting connections we make with each other are as important to our well being as our discoveries of our values and morals, as our spiritualities, as our physical and emotional health. The people we connect with are concrete in an abstract world; they are grounding when all else seems up in the air. I call these people our anchors, and they are essential.  
>   
>  This is why I am writing to you today. I fear Steve is lacking an important part of a well rounded human experience, and I am hoping two of the people he has true admiration for in this world will be better able to express this to him than myself. You see, as much advice as I have for Steve, I'm afraid I do not hold the same weight as family members.”  
>   
> 

Steve took the time to mutter, “Wrong,” before finishing the letter.  
  


> “I hope you take this concern into sincere consideration before the next school year. It will be my pleasure to work with Steve through this unprecedented journey, if only he understands the importance of beginning it.
> 
> Respectfully,

Dr. Peggy Carter.”

Steve perused the letter again, his eyebrows scrunched in concern. His adviser's handwriting was as sharp in front of him as it was written against his spine; each character seemed to reprimand him. Dr. Carter's name had inked itself down Steve's skin within a week of meeting her. Nobody in Steve's life had so quickly become someone meaningful enough for a soul tattoo, but Steve knew why Dr. Carter was an exception. She gave direct orders, stood her ground, and took no bullshit. Steve looked to her as a mentor, and she became his main source of guidance and acceptance within days of meeting him last year. The trail of black ink inscribed her name onto his spine, right where he needed her.

“So why didn't she talk to _me_?” he wondered aloud. He absentmindedly folded the sheet in his hand and slid it back into the envelope, his mind overflowing with possible scenarios. Had his grandparents contacted Peggy first? Did they even know how to contact his professors? Was this letter why they offered to let him stay with them this summer?

His head still swimming, Steve hesitatingly replaced the paper on top of the aged bureau in front of him—before quickly taking it back again. Steve bent the letter, shoved it into his back pocket, and turned toward the door, suddenly determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

He only managed to take half a step forward before he saw his grandmother standing at her bedroom's threshold. He jumped backward and bumped ungracefully into the bureau behind him; some of the trinkets that littered its top clanked together or fell to the carpeted floor before he could spin around to right them.

“Jeez, Gran, you're quieter than a ghost,” he said as he scrambled around the room, picking up chipped figurines and prone photo frames. He paused when he lifted a picture of his grandmother seeing her son and daughter-in-law in America for the first time: his grandmother's back was to the photo, but her arms were spread as wide as they could go; his mother looked relieved and grateful while his father, standing at ease in his uniform, seemed to be a mixture of happy and awestruck, as if he was still surprised his parents had actually booked the flight.

The picture brought a sad, distracted smile to Steve's face. Worried about their son and his wife, Steve's grandparents had packed almost everything they owned and shipped over to America from their home in Ireland around twenty years ago. Their house here was smaller than the one in the pictures of them in Ireland, but they never complained. America was simply where they needed to be to help their son and his wife, and Steve's arrival into their lives only strengthened their resolve to stay.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve's grandmother scolded lightly, snapping Steve out of his memory, “is this how you're repaying us for inviting you to stay here this summer? Rummaging through our mail?” Her small smile gave away her playful demeanor, but Steve's cheeks flushed. Steve had never needed to live with them; even after his mother died, he kept himself afloat working two or three minimum wage jobs, keeping two or three roommates around, and commissioning art whenever he could. Still, her invitation this year had been an enormous relief. Steve had starting packing moments after he received that phone call. His grandparents' guest room had felt more like home than any of his sad apartment lodgings, and the last thing he wanted to do was convince them he wasn't grateful.

“I just—” he began to explain, pulling out the letter, but his grandmother's raised hand and airy laughter stopped him.

“I know, sweetie,” she said. “I left it there for you to find.” Steve looked down at the sheet in his hand, confusion etched across his face.

“I just don't understand why she wrote to you,” he said. He met his grandmother's eyes. “Not that you and Grandpa aren't—it's just—I'm an adult,” he said, crossing his arms. “She can tell me things like this. She could have told me this herself.”

“Now, Steve,” his grandmother said, taking the few steps necessary to close the distance between them, “tell me something. What exactly would you have done if Dr. Carter had sat you down in her office and told you to make some friends?” Steve stared down at the letter as if his answer was written on its pages.

“Dr. Carter is extraordinary,” he said, “and I know—I mean, she probably had my best interests in mind when she wrote this, but—”

“Answer the question, sweetheart,” his grandmother said, touching his arm lightly. Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I might not have done much,” he admitted. His grandmother nodded, her trembling hand taking hold of Steve's steady one. Steve held onto her tightly, giving her brief relief from her tremors. He noticed how much she had shrunk since his last visit; the top of her head barely reached his nose now. He sighed and looked past her, willing himself to remember her as the tree trunk of a woman she once was—the mast of his family's ship. She hadn't changed any way but physically, but Steve knew how tolling physical maladies could be on a person.

“Why don't you try to tell me why she wrote it?” Steve's grandmother said, drawing Steve out of his busy mind again. She turned toward her bed, towing Steve behind her before taking her weight off her feet. She kept Steve's hand in hers as he sat down beside her.

“She thinks I have no friends,” he said, still looking at the letter in his hands. “And she thinks that's a problem.”

“Do you think it's a problem?” his grandmother said, watching his eyes darken.

“I think I have friends.”

“You haven't had much contact with anyone while you've been here.”

“I work two jobs, Gran. Three, sometimes. Four, even, if you count my art.”

“Well, you're here now, aren't you?”

“Yes, but I've still got schoolwork, and I have to look after you guys,” Steve said, resting his elbows on his legs. “I'm not actively trying to avoid making friends. There's just a lot on my plate right now.”

“I think you're making excuses,” she answered. About to interrupt, a look from his grandmother silenced Steve. “I think Dr. Carter is right. You don't have many people you can lean on left in this world.” Steve visibly winced before turning away from her. “Your mother and your father would want you to reach out to people. To make friends. To find your anchors.”

“If I haven't found any yet,” Steve said, his voice faltering as his back tingled where Dr. Carter's name stained his skin, “what's the use trying now? I'm getting along okay by myself—with you guys,” he corrected.

“We all have our people, Stevie,” his grandmother said. She noticed the waver in his tone and squeezed his hand between her own. “They're out there. They might already be in your life. You just have to let them in.”

“The door's wide open,” Steve said, looking at his hands. His grandmother ran her free hand down the side of his face before pulling him closer to her.

“You're an amazing young man, Steve. Folks will flock to you if only you give them a fighting chance.” Steve looked down at the letter, his mind wandering again while his grandmother lifted the back of his hand up and kissed it. She tugged him off her bed, saying, “Okay, that's enough pouting for one day. Chin up, Stevie.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Steve replied, allowing a tired smile to lighten his sullen features. His head was still swimming. His grandmother pulled him into a tight hug before leaning away and patting his shoulder.

“Meet me and your grandfather downstairs for supper,” she said, turning around and walking toward her bedroom door. “And don't forget my purse.” Steve laughed, allowing his grandmother's good humor to wash over him, and carefully removed her bag from the bureau he befriended earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time actually posting fic. I’VE BEEN WORKING SO HARD ON THIS. i don’t like having characters be peripheral, just-set-up-the-main-two-and-get-out-of-the-scene kinda lackluster people, so this story is pretty eventful. it’s also sad and kind of extremely angsty, but it’s full of love and i made it with my whole heart. my entire heart is in this project. literally. i shoved it through my computer screen. i’m dying. please call 911.
> 
> JOKING ASIDE, i really hope you all enjoy this. i'll update as often as physically possible for a college student. let me know what you think so far!


End file.
